


Hear me (out)

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship goals, I have a weakness for Parnasse, Injury Recovery, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Protests, Temporary Hearing Loss, This is basically angst and fluff a bit more angst and more fluff, also, and pining, so much pining, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7478475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire gets injured at a protest which makes him temporarily lose his ability to hear. Enjolras worries. Which is kind of not helping when Grantaire is supposed to you know, rest. And not almost get a heart attack every time Enjolras smiles at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear me (out)

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [likelectricity's](http://likelectricity.tumblr.com/) idea, I just put some words around it. Thank you for the wonderful prompt. ♥  
> Also I study literature, I won’t even try to pretend I know anything about medical accuracy except what google tells me (and also it's fiction so... dramatic purposes), I just hope I handled the subject respectfully and if there's something that might be offensive or triggering, please, please let me know so I can learn.  
> And now, enjoy this something that was supposed to be a little something and, like always, turned into a much-longer-than-planned something ♥

 

 

***

 

It was kind of ironic, Grantaire supposed, what happened.

Usually he wouldn’t have minded, he was quite a great supporter of the concept of irony after all but maybe that, in the end, was life’s way to say ‘Fuck you’ as well.  

He remembered the countless times of, ‘Do I really need to listen to this?’ and other, ‘Do you even _hear_ yourself? Because, you know, sometimes I really wish _I_ wouldn’t have to,’ in tones of voice that went from sharp to exhausted, and always slightly bitter.

Yeah.

Someone must have quite a good laugh up there, or down there, wherever, it didn’t really matter. Fate was fucked up. Life was.

Kind of had that one coming, Grantaire’s mind provided helpfully sarcastic and then another too short, shuddering breath made his lungs burn and eventually the world around him, already void of sound gave up its colours for blackness the moment he lost consciousness.

 

***

 

_Earlier_

 

***

 

“Any last comments?” Enjolras asked in a tone that was so far from a question that only the quick glance around the faces staring back at him indicated that it actually was one.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I still think it’s unnecessarily risky. And also stupid.”

“ _Except_ for Grantaire?”

“Oh, come on, didn’t you say something about like, what was it? I didn’t really listen, you know, but ‘denying a free citizen the right to speak his mind’ - not cool man.”

It was a mixture of satisfaction when Enjolras closed his eyes to take a deep breath, and regret because Enjolras closed his eyes denying the world and Grantaire of the crystal blue with a blink of an eye like white clouds passing over the sky.

Grantaire held a breath when Enjolras took his.

“I think you had enough opportunities to voice all of your opinions.” The sarcasm was clear as day.

Grantaire grinned. “Oh honey, I haven’t even started.”

The tinge of red, suppressed anger, high on Enjolras’s cheeks was what poets would write about, Grantaire thought even though he doubted they would be successful though.

Watercolours, pencils had already tried and failed, what good would words do.

This time the not so subtle throat clearing didn’t come from Grantaire.

“Sorry, are you done?” Courfeyrac interfered not sounding sorry at all. Exasperated, a tone very similar to Enjolras’s if it wasn’t for the hint of amusement in his voice. “Because you know, just a friendly reminder here, there are like ten other people in this room. In case you forgot.”

Enjolras’s blush deepened when he glared at Courfeyrac and Grantaire forced himself to drag his eyes away from the intriguing shade of red.

He turned to Courfeyrac with a lopsided grin.

“Thank you, I didn’t notice.” Sometimes saying things that were really not at all far off the truth made people automatically believe they were. Put a sarcastic tone there and a one-shouldered shrug and you were good.

Most of the time.

Courfeyrac’s gaze softened just enough to made his perceptiveness obvious but Grantaire was lucky enough that he had just as much human decency because he didn’t acknowledge seeing right through his pathetic excuse of a facade.

Instead he smiled. “Great. Good we got that covered. Now we can get to-”

“- fucking protest the shit out of that fucking protest?” Bahorel interrupted him clearly not amused that there were still people debating when they could already be out on the street.

He was grinning, widely, his leg bobbing up and down with pent-up energy.

Feuilly put a hand on his knee and it stopped shaking.

Bahorel started drumming with his knuckles onto the table top.

Courfeyrac opened his mouth again as if he was going to continue what he had been about to say, then shrugged.

“Yeah, that.”

Grantaire remembered laughing, enthusiastic, the noise, the feeling of Enjolras’s sapphire cold eyes glancing at him as if he hadn’t looked away at all.

 

***

 

Grantaire didn’t really pay attention to the sound of people talking, calling out the one or other motto while holding their protest signs in the air, a mix of voices and footsteps.

He stood at one edge of the crowd, hands stuffed into his pockets to stop the shaking, Joly and Bossuet next to him, with his eyes trained on the front where Enjolras stood on a makeshift podium with his hair a beacon and his face glowing from adrenaline and determination, a Cleisthenes with the refined oratory of an Isocrates.

God, he was definitely too far gone.

Everything was peaceful still, the air soaked with anticipation and righteous anger, but peaceful. Grantaire had a feeling it wasn’t going to last very long.

“You need to get a haircut.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice close to his ear.

Montparnasse managed to gracefully dodge his flailing arms when Grantaire spun around.

He took a deep breath that gave him enough time to glare at the other man, taking in his impeccable black trench coat, perfectly coiffed hair and purple scarf that made him look more like he had stepped out of an editorial photo shoot than onto a street with shouting social justice protesters. Somehow Grantaire still wasn’t surprised to see him.

“Well,” he started, pointedly casual after his heart rate was down to a moderate pace again, “I need to get my haircut, you need to stop pretending you’re a cold hearted asshole but I guess we don’t always do what’s best for us, do we?”

Montparnasse eyes narrowed, a silent touché that he would never say out loud. Instead he regarded Grantaire with a look that was equal amounts annoyed and disdainful.

“Always have to start at one point,” he shrugged, a fluent elegant motion. “What about you start at shutting your mouth?”

“I didn’t know your short term memory was _that_ bad but just so you remember, you started talking to _me._ ”

“And I already regret it.”

Grantaire huffed because talking to Montparnasse was about as pleasant as swimming with a bunch of sharks. He had always thought sharks were a little too unjustifiably villainized.

“Oh, hey Parnasse!” Joly exclaimed enthusiastically as he noticed the other man.

A pained expression flickered over Montparnasse’s face before he turned just a little bit towards Joly and Bossuet not bothering to return the sentiment of greeting.

Both of them didn’t seem to mind. Bossuet clapped Montparnasse’s back as if he wasn’t afraid of having his hand bitten off and smiled. “Hey man, what are you doing here?”

Montparnasse took Bossuet’s wrist with pointed fingers to get his hand away from his shoulder.

“I was bored,” he said and Grantaire shared an amused look with Joly that Montparnasse pretended not to acknowledge. “And I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see what kind of glorified brawl you are getting yourself into again. It is very entertaining. I even brought snacks.” And with that he pulled a disturbingly red apple out of his coat that somehow made him look even more like an asshole.

Grantaire had to give it to him that it would have probably been quite a good distraction if he had pulled that off with anyone else but neither of them missed how Montparnasse’s eyes focused on a distinct point in the crowd for a very short moment.

Grantaire didn’t have to turn to see who he had been looking at.

“You know, Jehan can defend themself. And they would totally kick your ass if they knew you were trying to be all noble knight in shining armour.”

Montparnasse looked like he was internally debating the merits of throwing the apple at Grantaire’s head. He didn’t, eventually, and simply glared out of eyes that were simply black against white in a pale face that made the tinge of red rising in his cheeks all the more obvious.

Bossuet, with the self-preservation skills of a lemming, cackled. “Nice blush there, Parnasse, that new?”

The amount of dignity Montparnasse managed to scrape together was truly inspiring. He regarded Bossuet with a cool look and pursed lips that curled up into half of a sneer. “Actually it is. Rose is incredibly in vogue nowadays, especially with the new Dior makeup collection, not that any of you heathens would know how to appreciate that.”

Grantaire managed to hold back his laughter until Montparnasse turned with a flourish and disappeared in the crowd.

Bossuet hid his giggles in the too long sleeve of his coat.

Joly grinned. “God, the leash on that man is so short,” he said and Grantaire couldn’t help but smile as well.

“Don’t tell him though or he’ll probably stab you.”

“Honestly, I feel like I should laugh but I’m actually not sure he wouldn’t.”

Grantaire contemplated that for a moment and shrugged because well. He might have had a point there.

***

 

The crowd grew and with every passing minute so did Grantaire’s restlessness.

He was naturally a pessimist so it wasn’t a new thing for him to assume the worst but he had the uneasy feeling it wouldn’t be much different if he had simply been a realist.

He caught some glimpses on a couple of policemen whose bored expressions had turned considerably more strained which didn’t really help to calm his nerves. Neither did Joly’s nervous tongue clicking which he always did when he was worried but Grantaire didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop so he simply ground his fists into his pocket and hoped, against all odds, that there weren’t all too many stupid people around looking for trouble.

He was too used to disappointment to be surprised it didn’t work out.

A glimpse he caught on Bahorel who was as easy to spot in a crowd as you could expect from a broad shouldered 6’5’’ man, was a bright warning sign. He looked furious with unceremoniously blatant anger on his face, and Grantaire grabbed Bossuet’s arm.

The other man followed his gaze and tensed.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before a scream pierced the air.

Everything stood still for a moment.

Quiet.

The chaos that followed was like waking a swarm of bees with nowhere to run.

Grantaire’s stomach dropped.

“Shit,” Bossuet murmured and he would have been tempted to share the sentiment but he was already running. Or more like stumbling, shoving his way through the mess of people and noise. Shouts and called out names and steps of feet on the street, everywhere.

Goddammit, he hated being right. So much.

Grantaire heard someone calling his name, probably Joly, somewhere in the crowd behind him, but didn’t turn around just pushed forward until he finally, it felt like a finally even though it couldn’t have been that much time, caught sight of Enjolras, hair a mess, gesturing, shouting, fury in his eyes.

Bahorel was next to him with a grin that was savage and blood running from his nose that he didn’t seem to mind. Feuilly and Combeferre were holding him back, Feuilly’s face an expression of rigour and Combeferre’s glasses crooked, almost sliding off his nose.

Grantaire caught words like ‘Stop’ and ‘Peaceful’ over the noise, ignored the pain when someone kicked his shin trying to get away from the jumble of activists, policemen and counter protesters that he needed to get closer to.

He focused on Enjolras, Enjolras who was still gesturing wildly but not pulling back, stepping back, stopping.

Stupid, righteous, beautiful idiot.

Blue eyes met his own over the heads of people that couldn’t have mattered less in that moment; they never really did if Grantaire was being honest with himself. He rarely was.

He didn’t see it coming, didn’t have time to react when another body collided with him, an elbow colliding with the side of his face, hard, pain exploding behind his skin too sudden and sharp to leave space for the thought of bracing his fall to stop the other side of his head from hitting the solid surface of the street.

For a moment everything went white.

White and pain.

Maybe seconds, maybe minutes later Grantaire felt a hand on his arm, his shoulder that made the world come back, ringing in his ears through the pain.

“Oh my god, R, are you alright?!”

He almost didn’t catch Joly’s words but the horrified, shocked expression of the other man’s face when Grantaire opened his eyes, he didn’t remember closing them, made them perfectly clear even though his face was slightly blurring in front of his eyes, unfocused.

“Fine,” he ground out, the sound of the word more vibrating in his mouth then reaching his ears, and pulled himself up, Joly’s hand still on his arm.

Standing again, the world the world tipped to the left.

Grantaire almost fell into Bossuet on his other side before a steady arm wrapped around his waist holding him up.

“Where,” he got out. He couldn’t _think._ Besides. “The others. Enjolras.” And pain.

Joly’s grip tightened around his arm. “They’ll be fine. Parnasse got back-up, they’re getting out, we need to _go._ ”

“No, I-” He managed another step in the opposite direction of where Joly was gently trying to lead him but walking made the ground shake, or maybe just his legs, or maybe the whole earth, colours blending and blurring together in front of his eyes.

The ringing in his ears almost drowned out Joly’s voice.

“He’ll be fine.”

Grantaire let himself be pulled away if only because his brain was too focused on not throwing up all over his shoes.

 

***

 

Somehow they managed to get to Joly and Bossuet’s flat.

Grantaire had hardly any reconciliation of _how_ but got aware that they did when he eventually half-collapsed onto the sofa because the weird mustard yellow colour of that thing was definitely not something that he would let anywhere near his own walls.

“Have to call the others,” he got out as soon as he didn’t have to pay attention that his knees weren’t going to give out under him. The words came out slightly slurred. There was a dull ringing in his ears, the rest of his head felt pained and heavy.

He saw Joly and Bossuet exchanging a silent conversation with their eyes over his head, then Bossuet nodded, pulled Joly’s phone out of his jacket and left the room.

Joly immediately walked over to the sofa and kneeled in front of Grantaire, his face worried and a little less blurred than before.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Joly scoffed. “Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of England.”

“I thought you’re French.”

“Hilarious. Look up.”

And because he sounded concerned Grantaire did what he said. Joly’s expression matched his voice.

“Alright, I’m going to see if your pupils react so just try to keep looking at the light, okay?”

Grantaire huffed what Joly seemed to take as a yes because a second later he produced a small flashlight seemingly out of thin air. It wasn’t pleasant and certainly didn’t do anything good for the ache in his head as well but he managed to keep his eyes open.

Joly clicked his tongue and moved to the other eye, then turned out the light.

“Alright, that seems to be okay. Do you have nausea? Something like a ringing sound in the ears? Pain anywhere?”

“Head hurts,” Grantaire admitted mostly because he was sure Joly already knew that. “But it’s fine.”

Joly frowned in a way that scrunched up his nose which made him look more adorable than angry. “If you say that again, I swear, it’s not going to be ‘fine’ for much longer.”

Grantaire sighed. “I’ll tell you when it gets worse.”

The other man seemed to contemplate that answer and even though he didn’t look very happy about it eventually nodded.

“Fine.”

The door opened quietly and Bossuet came back into the room. Grantaire tensed and Joly’s hand calmingly, gently patted his knee.

“I reached Ferre, they’re all alright, a bit bruised here and there and Courf sprained his ankle so Enjolras went to the hospital with him. We’re meeting tomorrow back in the Musain but right now Ferre says we should all rest a bit.”

The relief hitting Grantaire almost drowned out the last words, the dull noise in his ears muffling the thoughts in his brain that weren’t pain and gratefulness, and he closed his eyes.

Rest.

Rest sounded good.

 

***

 

The headache wasn’t better but also not worse the next morning and the ringing in his ears had resorted to a dull feeling of pressure so he bit his teeth through it and forced down half a cup of coffee in one go purposefully ignoring Joly’s worried expression.

They arrived at the Musain right on time, everyone else already slouched into chairs looking tired and drained.

One side of Bahorel’s face was covered in dark bruises. He grinned, the white of teeth cutting through the assembly of red, blue and purple. Jehan had a small cut above their right eyebrow and Grantaire was not surprised to see Montparnasse next to them, one arm around their waist, silent and glaring at everyone who came too close. The rest seemed fairly uninjured except for Courfeyrac whose bandaged foot rested gently in Combeferre’s lap.

Grantaire flopped down onto a chair in the back from where he had a perfectly clear view on Enjolras, the only one standing, upright and energetic as if there weren’t almost purple shades under his eyes.

“Well,” he started when everyone had settled again. “First of all, I’m glad everyone’s here and alright.”

Montparnasse coughed pointedly only that the cough turned into a cut off groan half-way through. Jehan smiled innocently at the pained expression on the black-haired man’ face that he quickly tried to cover up.

Enjolras ignored him.

“The escalation yesterday was a minor setback-”

Grantaire scoffed.

Probably because he had no self-preservation. Or common sense. Or both.

“What’s a _major_ set back then?”

Enjolras’s eyes snapped to him but his expression was mostly one of exhaustion. It was disappointing.

“I’m not going to argue with you right now.”

Grantaire scoffed again, louder this time and ignored the painful pounding in his temples. “Oh yeah, I guess you could do that. I mean, what’s there to argue about, right? Just some clearly foreseeable violence there that could have gotten someone severely hurt, no big thing, right?”

He supposed it said a lot about him that the flash of anger in Enjolras’s eyes made Grantaire feel immediately better and worse at the same time.

“There are risks that have to be taken,” he said, very calmly which made it obvious that he wasn’t calm at all.

“For what? A hideous little protest thing for college kids that have nothing better to do in their spare time?”

 _“Goddammit._ ”

And there was the cursing. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile a little, one that probably looked more sardonic than anything else. He hated himself a little more every time for that smile but Enjolras’s eyes were blue and furious and beautiful so what did it matter.

“This is part of something bigger, not that you would understand anything about that,” Enjolras snapped and this was familiar territory, so familiar it hurt. It perfectly aligned with the pain in Grantaire’s head that made it more and more difficult to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth.

“Really? I actually understand a great deal about liberty, you know, some would say it’s the only thing I know.”

“Liberation.”

“ _Liberation_ ,” Grantaire repeated, dry, sarcastic. “Right. Because all your privilege must be suffocating.”

“If you’re just here to antagonize the shit out of everything I have to say then-”

‘Shut up’ or ‘Get out’ were the most popular options to that sentence and Grantaire decided the chances were fifty fifty when he realized he didn’t hear the end.

Or anything else.

Enjolras’s lips were moving but he didn’t hear anything, there was only the pounding in his head, the pain as he stared, and stared.

The panic kicked in after what felt like an eternity but was probably more like a second, everything seemed slower and he couldn’t _hear._ He opened his mouth but nothing happened, just air rushing out of his lungs, constant pain but no _sound._  

He didn’t really realize Enjolras had stopped talking, the anger in his expression starting to mix with confusion. Grantaire tried to breathe, simply breathe but he could only feel the pressure in his head and pain and nothing else, just pain behind his temples, his lungs starting to burn.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder and he startled because there was no sound, because he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t _breathe_.

He couldn’t breathe.

He closed his eyes before the pain and panic made everything stop.

 

***

 

The first thing Grantaire noticed when his consciousness returned was the smell of hospital in his nose. Clean and antiseptic. The feeling of slightly rough fabric under his fingers, covering his skin. Headache, but not that bad that he wished he would be dead so that was something.

He didn’t hear anything.

Grantaire’s eyes snapped opening, panic immediately resurfacing but then there was a pressure at his cheek, a hand turning his face gently but firm and Joly and Bossuet next to the hospital bed.

Both of them looked even more exhausted than in the morning but Bossuet smiled, a little, encouraging thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Joly let go of Grantaire’s face and held up a piece of paper.

_Be calm, it’s going to be alright. Breathe._

Grantaire blinked. And breathed.

A small smile matching Bossuet’s appeared on Joly’s face, then he turned the paper.

_You’re in the hospital. Hitting your head caused a temporary hearing loss._

The word temporary was capitalized and underlined several times.

Grantaire blinked again while his brain tried to process the new information. Hearing loss. Hearing loss.

He forced himself to breathe in an out.

Temporary. That was probably supposed to be a good thing.

Joly bit down onto his lip and held up the next piece of paper.

_I’m so sorry. I should have known something was wrong, I should have taken you to the hospital._

Grantaire didn’t even read the whole thing to the end before he was shaking his head.

“No,” he said or maybe he didn’t, he didn’t know because he couldn’t _hear_ a goddamn thing He shook his head fiercely, hoping it would be enough – it hurt – and glanced helplessly at Bossuet who wrapped an arm around Joly’s waist until the other man nodded shakily. He tried to look away but Grantaire could still see that his eyes were wet.

Bossuet took the pieces of paper where they were getting crumbled in Joly’s hand and held up the next one.

_Doctors said they'll keep you here another day for watching if sth changes. The others were worried but we send them to go home when we knew what was going on. Do you want us to call them? They'll want to see that you're alright._

The whole paper was full of Bossuet’s surprisingly neat handwriting. Grantaire felt the headache worsening at every word he tried to read which was one of the reasons he shook his head once he finished.

They didn't ask for another explanation.

Grantaire was glad about it because something told him that ‘pathetic enough already’ wouldn't have been counted as one anyway no matter how much it felt like the truth.

 

***

 

Every doctor or nurse coming to talk to Grantaire in the course of the next hours made a great fuzz about the word ‘temporary’ and he was silently grateful for it. It didn’t even matter that no one could tell him exactly how long ‘temporary’ was meant to be because it simply meant that there _was_ an end at some point.

It was easier to bear the feeling of helplessness and the looks of pity.

Joly and Bossuet left paper and pens at his bedside table when they eventually left after Grantaire basically threw them out since Joly looked like he was about to collapse himself. He spent the next half an hour glaring at the paper before turning his attention to the window, drifting in and out of sleep, the exhaustion of the last hours nestled deep in his bones.

At one point he had actually been quite sure to be awake but when the door opened he still couldn’t help but wonder if he had slipped into sleep anyway, dreaming.

Enjolras carefully stepped inside, careful movements as if he was trying not to make any noise. Not that Grantaire would have heard any of that, but for some reason it seemed oddly considerate.

He closed the door behind him and the small smile on his face almost seemed nervous as if it wasn’t Grantaire whose heart was suddenly deciding to beat twice as fast as usual.

And… he was probably staring.

Well, nothing new there.

And because the situation wasn’t surreal enough Enjolras unfolded the piece of paper in his hand that Grantaire hadn’t noticed and handed it over with another smile.

He realized with a start that he had never actually seen Enjolras’s handwriting before since Combeferre was usually the one writing down important things while Enjolras and Courfeyrac did most of the talking.

It was terrible. A mix of flourishes that might have once been something like a proper cursive but turned into a proper mess instead.

Grantaire stared at it for a good few seconds before managing to decipher the words.

_I’m sorry, I know you told Joly and Bossuet you didn’t want to see anyone but I just wanted to see that you’re alright._

He blinked, stared at the paper, stared a little longer at the words, black on white. When he looked up Enjolras was still smiling. Grantaire was a little bit lost and for some reason still not hundred percent convinced this wasn’t a dream.

He forced himself to take a deep breath that felt oddly intense in his lungs but returned enough presence of mind for him to take a pencil from the bedside table and scribble under Enjolras’s words.

_It’s not that I don’t want to see anyone, it’s just really weird ~~to.~~ Everything basically. But I’m alright. It’s temporary. _

He bit down on his lip and glanced at Enjolras who seemed to be waiting patiently.

_What are you doing here?_

His own handwriting looked almost pristine in comparison to Enjolras’s. He didn’t know what to make of that so he simply gave back the paper before he could talk himself out of it.

Enjolras’s expression turned from relief to confusion as he read. He looked up frowning but Grantaire simply looked back until Enjolras took the pen and paper from his hand, equally careful in his movements, and began writing.

Grantaire pretended his pulse wasn’t beating harshly in his ears and watched golden curls fall in front of blue eyes before Enjolras gave back the paper.

_You suddenly started hyperventilating and no one knew what was happening. It scared the hell out of everyone. We were worried. I was worried._

Grantaire frowned and not only because it was difficult to make out Enjolras’s handwriting. His eyes were stuck on the last words for a far too long time. He hoped he would get away with it since he did take quite a hit to the head.

Which was just. All a bit much.

He took the pen back and decided to turn around those three words and their possible meaning in his head another time, or more like a thousand time.

Instead he wrote, _Do you think they would feel better if they came here?_

Enjolras’s smile when he read the words was soft and Grantaire got a bit side-tracked by it when the other man scribbled his response.

_Yes, I think so but they won’t if you don’t want to._

_You came anyway,_ Grantaire wrote and this time it took a few seconds longer for Enjolras’s to formulate his answer. He didn’t look up in between reading and writing and Grantaire tried not to read anything into that.

The words were not what he expected, not that he would have had enough time to expect anything really, not when he hadn’t even expected Enjolras to show up at all, but Grantaire couldn’t help but smile, a real one, when he read them.

_Well, as you like to point out, I’m a stubborn idiot._

He didn’t write back, ‘I’m glad’, just threw the paper into Enjolras’s smiling face.

 

***

 

The others came to visit Grantaire in the hospital in small groups, not more than two people at a time to not overexert him.

He had to say it was quite a surprise when it turned out that out of everyone Bahorel had the most clear, elegant cursive Grantaire had ever seen even though he broke two pencils in under five minutes.

 

***

 

The first day Grantaire was released from the hospital was difficult. It was an endless repeating of _temporary, temporary_ in his head, like breathing. In and out.

Joly insisted on staying with him in his apartment even though he had to leave early the next day for his shift at the hospital he was working an internship at. They ended up cuddling up in Grantaire’s bed because Joly had determined his sofa a bio-hazard which Grantaire thought was a little bit of a hyperbole but didn’t complain.

At around 1am Musichetta arrived with Bossuet in tow not so much complaining but announcing they couldn’t sleep without Joly there and that’s how four people ended up in Grantaire’s bed at once and everything stopped looking that grim anymore.

He only had a short moment of panic when he woke up the next morning, so that could probably be counted as an improvement too.

He half-stumbled into his living room where he was greeted with the sight of Musichetta sitting on the sofa newly equipped with a red, yellow and orange patterned throw that he had never seen before. She smiled at him, tipped her finger at the coffee cup in her hand and pointed at the kitchen.

With half a cup of coffee in his system and the other half still in the cup Grantaire trotted back into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa next to her. He sighed, at least it felt like he did and because that was a thought that reminded him of what he really didn’t want to think about as much as possible, he concentrated instead on the soft feeling of fabric under his hand.

Musichetta put her cup on the coffee table and reached for paper and pens that she must have found somewhere around which wasn’t all that difficult in Grantaire’s apartment.

_Bossuet drove Joly to the hospital, I’m going to need to go to work but don’t worry, I made sure you’re not going to be alone._

Before he could ask what she meant with that she stood up and pointed at the door, probably indicating that someone had knocked.

Temporary, Grantaire thought and chugged the rest of his coffee.

Fortunately, there was nothing left for him to choke on when Musichetta opened the door because that would have been kind of embarrassing.

She grinned at him over Enjolras’s shoulder after dropping a kiss on his cheek in greeting, then she gave Grantaire thumbs up, grabbed her bag and disappeared out of the door leaving Grantaire to stare at Enjolras in a matter that was probably similar to the last time that meaning, completely ridiculous.

The other man was carrying a laptop case and a paper bag in the other hand, wearing that stupid red coat that shouldn’t look good on anyone and a smile.

Grantaire thought he should have been more prepared for his smile but well. Obviously not so much.

Enjolras nodded at him and pulled off his coat before he crossed the room and reached for pen and paper after putting his bags down next to the coffee table.

_Chetta told me the doctors said you shouldn’t be alone so she asked if I could come over. I’m done with my exams, I just got another thesis to write but I can do that anywhere, right?_

Grantaire read the words two, three times before he wrote, _I suppose. Thank you._

He really couldn’t think of anything else because he was as always distracted by Enjolras’s looking at him. He managed to smile back though which in retrospect might not have been the best idea because it only made Enjolras’s smile widen and Grantaire didn’t think that the picking up of his heart rate at that was healthy.

 

***

 

Enjolras settled on the sofa and Grantaire tried to concentrate on reading a book that Jehan had left for him instead of staring too obviously at the way the sun caught in Enjolras’s hair.

He wasn’t exactly successful but decided to blame it on the inherently bizarre assemblies of words that were probably supposed to be poems.

It was slowly getting dark outside again and at one point Enjolras closed his laptop, smiled quickly at Grantaire and disappeared into the kitchen.

When he didn’t come back after a while though Grantaire eventually stood up and trotted after him, his bones heavy and the headache on a tipping point between bearable and not.

He stepped into the kitchen and well, he didn’t know what he had expected but it certainly wasn’t Enjolras standing in front of his stove stirring something absolutely deliciously smelling that made Grantaire’s stomach clench happily.

His brain, in turn, short-circuited there for a moment.

When Enjolras noticed him standing at the door a smile lightened up his face. He pointed at the paper bag that he had brought with him, then at the pot on the stove and at last at the kitchen table with another piece of paper and a pen next to it.

Grantaire followed the silent direction like in trance, incredibly confused, slightly dazzled by the absurdness of the entire ridiculousness of the situation.  

_I made dinner if you’re hungry?_

When he looked up Enjolras’s expression was a mixture of hope and nervousness and it was a look Grantaire had only seen twice in the whole time he knew Enjolras, and that in the last couple of days, and he had no idea how to deal with it.

So he nodded.

Which was just great, really great. Very eloquent, really.

He continued to watch while Enjolras finished whatever he was doing and eventually put a plate of  colourful looking soup in front of Grantaire before serving another one for himself.

It was about as delicious as it smelled. Probably more.

Grantaire grabbed the paper and wrote, _This is amazing, I didn’t know you could cook. What is this?_

Enjolras shrugged with a small smile and took the pen from Grantaire’s outstretched hand.

_It’s called Piperrada, it’s a Basque dish, Courfeyrac’s mom taught me some things because I think she was afraid I’d starve if I ever had to live on my own._

Laughing, Grantaire noticed, was kind of weird because he couldn’t hear the sound but feel it in his throat down to his stomach. But Enjolras smiled nothing else really mattered all that much.

They ate in a silence that was somehow comfortable. It was there but it wasn’t awkward or weird, just there surprisingly. Even though Grantaire supposed it was true that they didn’t _always_ fight when they were both in the same room, they mostly did. Which was enough to make the whole situation simply too surreal to be weirdly awkward on top of that and well, he wasn’t going to complain about it. On the contrary, he was going to enjoy every single moment as long as he could. Because he was greedy like that, if he had to be honest.

After they finished eating Grantaire helped Enjolras doing the dishes and restoring order in the kitchen until Enjolras took the pen and paper once more.

_I’m going to sleep on the sofa._

And that was how Grantaire’s calm went flying out of the window. Because he hadn’t seen that coming. Not at all. Even though he should have. In retrospect. Goddammit.

He got as far as writing down, _No, I can -,_ before Enjolras, looking over his shoulder, snatched the sheet of paper from his hand.

 _You need to rest. You are injured. I’m not going to make_ you _sleep on the sofa in your own apartment._

His expression was stern and determined and incredibly Enjolras-like except for the smile still tugged into the corner of his mouth. It was an expression that made it clear that no matter what anyone else said, there was no use in debating. Except for the fun of it or, in Grantaire’s case, the lack of self-preservation.

But he was tired and mostly really kind of happy in a weird, unrealistic way like the whole day had been so he simply sighed and mouthed, ‘Stubborn idiot’.  

Enjolras only shrugged with a lopsided smile. He wrote something down and held up the paper.

_Don’t you know it._

It didn’t happen often that Grantaire fell asleep with a smile on his face.

 

***

 

Maybe, Grantaire thought, he could get used to other people making him breakfast. And with other people he meant that he really liked Bossuet or Joly or Chetta making breakfast - even though Bossuet shouldn’t be let anywhere near a stove and Joly had the weird ability to produce nothing but muesli seemingly out of sheer air - but he especially meant Enjolras who stood in his kitchen already dressed and incredibly awake except for the reminiscence of what must have been spectacular bed hair right after waking up.

There was coffee and croissants and Enjolras reading a news article on his laptop perched up on the counter. He looked up when Grantaire came in and mouthed, ‘Good morning,’ then handed him a piece of paper.

_I made breakfast. How are things today?_

Surreal.

But that probably wasn’t an acceptable answer.

Grantaire shrugged in response to the question, he felt more rested but still a little bit weak. The headache was more of a constant pressure that was easy to ignore but still there.

He looked at the table and tapped questioningly at the word ‘made’ not being able to hold back a grin.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and took the paper from his hand.

 _Okay, I_ bought _breakfast. Actually, half of it. I was in this café down the street and the barista was really nice. He gave me free croissants._

He seemed incredibly proud of that achievement and Grantaire was certainly not awake enough to deal with the adorableness of a triumphant Enjolras and really, he was so damn far gone, it was ridiculous.

 _Sure he wasn’t flirting with you?_ He wrote back mostly to be difficult and kind of because it was most likely the case and Enjolras was simply oblivious about those things. Grantaire knew, speaking from experience. 

But to his surprise Enjolras simply shrugged after reading Grantaire’s question.

_Well even if he did, it doesn’t matter._

Grantaire tried not to obviously pause at that. _Why not?_

He handed the note back to Enjolras who stopped with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. For a few seconds nothing happened, then he put the cup slowly onto the counter and very deliberately, carefully wrote down, _Not interested. Do you have sugar anywhere?_

Grantaire frowned at the obvious deflection but Enjolras wasn’t looking at him so he simply pointed at the cupboard right next to the other man’s head before making his way to the coffee machine to pour himself a very, very generous cup.

 

***

 

Joly and Bossuet picked him up later to drive him to another check-up appointment at the hospital.

It was frustrating.

There didn’t seem to be any change in Grantaire’s condition so he was simply supposed to wait a little longer, the word ‘temporary’ being thrown around time and again while he clung to it as well as Joly’s hand through the whole procedure like a lifeline.

It was late when Bossuet drove them back to Grantaire’s apartment and after silently asking for permission Joly disappeared with Enjolras in the kitchen to update him on the news.

Grantaire flopped down onto the sofa and stared at the opposite wall trying not to think because every thought went into directions that he really, really didn’t want to imagine.

Enjolras’s red coat hung on the coat rack.

Bossuet sat next to him and it was so silent Grantaire wanted to punch the wall just to hear his bones break. Bossuet snapped his fingers in front of Grantaire’s eyes, looked at him earnestly, and shook his head.

When Enjolras and Joly emerged from the kitchen Bossuet stood up and leaned down to kiss Grantaire’s forehead before he and Joly left leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone in the silence.

The other man seemed unsure what to do but eventually he sat down next to Grantaire, the same spot where Bossuet had sat just before, and handed him a piece of paper, slightly crumbled and definitely not newly written on.

_I’m sorry._

Grantaire frowned at the paper, took a pen from lying on the coffee table. _What for?_

Enjolras bit down onto his lip. It took a little while before he handed the paper back to Grantaire, the letters even more illegible than usually, slightly wobbly.

_For what happened to you. You said it was going to go wrong and I should have listened. I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry._

For some reason the words made Grantaire angry. And he couldn’t even harshly snap back a response which made him even more angry. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the pressure of pen when he wrote had ripped the paper in two

_I don’t need the pity of your guilty conscience._

This time it was Enjolras who frowned, his perfectly bowed eyebrows drawing together as his blue eyes, stormy and surprised, flew over the words. He wrote and when he gave the note back to Grantaire he didn’t look away.

_I’m not here because I’m pitying you. I promise I’m not._

He looked like he meant it.

Grantaire didn’t know what to do with that.

He didn’t know what to do at all.

He was frustrated and angry and helpless and Enjolras was looking at him like all of that mattered to him and Grantaire didn’t know what that was supposed to mean because it certainly wasn’t hope.

His head hurt.

He wrote down, _Whatever._

Because at least he was still perfectly able at pretending not to care.

Then he stood up and walked into his room, closing the door behind him without noise but force and fell face first onto his bed. Even covering his ears with his hand didn’t help to drown out the silence.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep but somehow, at one point he did and he was grateful.

 

***

 

Not surprisingly, Grantaire felt like shit the next morning.

Not just because his head felt like it was just waiting to burst any second but also because he just did. In general. It wasn’t the usual shitty feeling after fighting with Enjolras which was mostly just self-loathing and a hangover but a more deep, persistent feeling of regret.

Maybe because the last days, despite everything else, hadn’t actually been that bad.

Maybe because it hadn’t even been a real fight, less explosive and furious, more bitter and personal.

He groaned into his pillow and felt the sound vibrating in his throat. It didn’t help very much.

Eventually he did decide to stand up and face the day because that was what he was going to have to do at some point anyway so he heaved himself to his feet, shuffling through his room, and promptly stopping once he opened the door to the living room.

Grantaire blinked, blinked again but somehow it didn’t make Enjolras disappear.

He was sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee and what looked like Jehan’s poetry book in his lap. He looked up when he noticed Grantaire with a smile that was cautious and almost timid and casually breaking Grantaire’s heart.

The question must have been obvious on his face, ‘What are you still doing here?’, because Enjolras reached for a piece of paper from the small stack on the coffee table that already seemed quite familiar. He didn’t look angry per se but that was a little difficult to comprehend so Grantaire still took every step forward cautiously until he could look over Enjolras’s shoulder.

_Your sofa is comfortable._

He stared at the words. Somehow they felt like a peace offering.

Enjolras continued after a moment, his long fingers curling around the pen elegantly which made it even more surprising that his handwriting looked that terrible. Grantaire had to admit he was helplessly charmed. Which wasn’t a new thing.

_Also I don’t really enjoy walking into a naked Courf in my kitchen every morning. And I mean every morning. Like, he’s my best friend and he’s my best friend’s boyfriend but… enough is enough. He doesn’t even live with us._

Grantaire had never heard Enjolras babbling but it seemed a lot like he was babbling if the slightly red tinge of his cheeks was anything to go by. It made something warm and pleasant uncurl in his stomach, the fact that Enjolras tried, how his freckles stood out against the pale of his skin, scattered constellations.

He took the pen from Enjolras’s hand carefully not to let their fingers brush because for some absurd reason he felt like he wouldn’t be able to keep back the flood of feelings that was threatening to burst out anytime, all the time.

Instead he decided to go along and smirked.

_Doesn’t he?_

Enjolras stared down at the paper, back at Grantaire and then his smile widened, beautifully, brilliantly. He shrugged, exaggerated and smiling.

_Alright, he kind of does._

And maybe Grantaire was going to get a few more moments to hold on to.

 

***

 

The day was calm.

It was an intense sort of calmness, quiet and yet to presently _there_ that it sometimes simply made Grantaire shiver without apparent reason.

Or, who was he kidding, the apparent reason was sitting next to him on his couch like a painting dripped in red, orange, gold and light and sometimes the sight made Grantaire’s heart hurt so much that he closed his eyes. He could blame it on his head who was also doing a good job at trying to kill him so at one point he took some of the pain medication he had gotten for cases of emergency because fuck that, he was suffering here, alright?

He fell asleep in the calm and warmth of the sunlight, he didn’t know for how long, but waking up was a slow, comfortable tugging back into consciousness, into a feeling of content and comfort, his head resting on something soft and a hand running carefully through his hair.

That’s when he heard it.

The point not being it, but _heard._

The words were still slightly unclear, a little bit muffled but definitely there, soft.

Maybe it was the hand running through his hair, calming and gentle, maybe it was just the fear that one wrong move could make everything around collapse like a house of cards, that made Grantaire keep breathing, deeply, in and out, not moving, not the tiniest bit.

Maybe it was because Enjolras’s voice was gentle in a way that Grantaire hadn’t heard very often, never directed towards him, and he could have listened to him for hours if Enjolras would let him.

“... and  I thought I was going crazy,” he said. Grantaire couldn’t see him smiling but he heard it in his voice. “I mean at that point I had already spent like half a year thinking you were a complete asshole so I didn’t really know how to stop acting like you were, I guess?”

He sounded far away, absent and completely unaware that Grantaire almost forgot to breathe right then when he realized Enjolras was talking to him. Or about him with Grantaire’s head cushioned on his legs and his fingers running through his hair.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I was doing. It was really kind of stupid of me. Tremendously stupid. And irrational. Probably because I didn’t know how to handle all of it. You always did that, even before I knew why. Making me lose every last rational thought in my damn head.” He laughed at that, just a little, just quietly.

Grantaire breathed in and out and wondered how Enjolras’s couldn’t hear the racing of his heart.

“But what can I say, right? It’s not that I don’t like it. It was irritating, of course it was, first time I realized you weren’t infuriating because I couldn’t stand you. I never did, I mean, could _not_ stand you. God, I mean, how could anyone? You’re just… it’s astonishing how absolutely incredible you are, do you know that? It’s crazy. It’s crazy how _completely_ gone I am on you; I mean, I just. Damnit.” Another laugh, shorter and more frustrated. “I mean, it’s great, isn’t it? You don’t even hear what I’m saying and I still don’t manage to tell you I’m in love with you-”

Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath.

For a moment, everything was silent.

The hand in his hair stopped moving. Grantaire was sure his heart stopped for a second that felt like forever before it started beating again, twice as fast, harsh and insistent.

He opened his eyes, looking into Enjolras’s, wide and blue.

He stared at Grantaire who stared back, then started to pull his hand away: Grantaire didn’t think, only knew that his mind protested every single loss of contact, every moment, and he acted on impulse when he reached up, his fingers closing around Enjolras’s wrist, the other man’s pulse beating rapidly under his fingertips.

He pulled Enjolras’s hand back, slowly, giving him the chance to pull away - he didn’t -, never looking away from his eyes. He brought Enjolras’s hand down to his mouth. Pressing his trembling lips where he could feel the beat of Enjolras’s pulse under his skin.

Enjolras gasped quietly, a sound loud in the silence. His mouth fell open slightly as if he didn’t even notice looking at Grantaire with astonishment and wonder like _he_ was the beholder, not the painting.

“You heard-,” he started, a whisper. It wasn’t a question but not a statement either, just the words unfinished hanging in the quiet.

It took a moment before Grantaire managed to speak but Enjolras’s words hadn’t broken whatever this, the moment was, so maybe his own wouldn’t either.

“Yes,” he said. His voice felt foreign in his throat. “I did.”

Enjolras’s eyes dropped to where Grantaire’s fingers were still loosely wrapped around his wrist.

”Good,” he murmured, almost absentmindedly, before he shook his head, cleared his throat. “I mean, that’s good. We should well, call Joly or something and-”

“Enjolras.”

He stopped when Grantaire tightened his fingers around Enjolras’s wrist again, bringing it back to his mouth.

“Did you mean it?” Said into the skin under his lips.

Enjolras’s eyes moved back to look into Grantaire’s a small crease edging itself between his brows that Grantaire wanted to smooth away with his fingers but still wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. He didn’t know, didn’t know what to make of the small frown, the momentary hope and months, years of hopelessness tugging at both ends of his mind, until Enjolras said, “Of course I did.”

Open and honest.

Grantaire heard the words, clearly, but it still took a few seconds for him to unfold their whole meaning. When he did he felt his lips curl up into a smile that felt so natural as if it had only been waiting to break out and maybe it had, maybe for longer than he had known.

“Me too.”

A faint blush spread over Enjolras’s cheeks. “Really?”

And just like that Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, slightly disbelieving and slightly hysteric, simply happy.

“Yeah,” he huffed, “ _really._ ”

Enjolras’s smile lightened up his face, even more bright, even more beautiful and then he leaned down, his fingers slipping between strands of Grantaire’s hair again gently, and pressed their lips together, soft and sure. Grantaire kissed him back, their noses brushing together when he tilted his head to fit their mouth together, perfectly while his heart was singing from the taste of Enjolras’s smile against his lips.

 

***

 

He wasn’t quite sure if the reason for Joly’s tears of joy lied more in the return of Grantaire's hearing abilities or the fact that he, Bossuet and Musichetta opened the door to find him and Enjolras kissing but when Chetta patted Joly’s head while Bossuet handed him a tissue, and mouthed a triumphant, ‘You're welcome’, Grantaire realized with a sudden clarity that maybe, as long as there were people in the world trying to make good things happen even in the most terrible of situations, life wasn’t as much of a bad joke as he always thought it was.

Enjolras coughed in a way that sounded mysteriously like a laugh and reached for Grantaire's hand and maybe, some of those good things were even life telling you it might be worth the rest of it, and maybe, at some point, Grantaire might even be able to get used to that thought.

He intertwined his fingers with Enjolras's and smiled.

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> You're always welcome to say hi and talk to me about beautiful pining idiots on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/).


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